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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717675">Spring afternoons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetcthulhu/pseuds/Velvetcthulhu'>Velvetcthulhu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Feral Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Fluff, M/M, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:34:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetcthulhu/pseuds/Velvetcthulhu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Moomin is at the best place he could ever be</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spring afternoons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Moomintroll was sitting on the piato, sewing. He was fixing Snufkin's long, green coat as it needed to be fixed up, and his stitches was neater than his husband's. Said husband was sitting in the grass near to him, wearing his new rolled up tan linen trousers(Little My's gift), his suspenders, bare chested and carefree, smoking his pipe, as usual(a new pipe, wedding gift from Pappa). They got married previous Summer, and Moomin was worried how his first hibernation as a married troll will be, beacuse he didn't want to break his own heart with missing Snufkin if he wakes up, and it's sure the vagabond needed his space. But it worked out just fine: Snufkin went, he slept and dreamed of the warm rains of late Spring, and Snufkin came back, his hat cocky, his sharp teeth showing, and Moomin was firm about questioning him whenever he got into any fights again. Snufkin just grinned, like he always did, and conjured up Moomin's gifts from the depth of his pockets. Moomin was thinking, thinking about the changes they both went through when younger. Some were obvious, like him getting rounder, but also a bit taller, his fur thicker. Some were less obvious, like him realising it's okay to want to be more like his Mamma than his Pappa, even if he respects all fearless adventurers. He had one for his husband, after all. But he liked to bake and garden and try out new recipes, dipping a toe into healing and potion making, to decorate and write and illustrate stories. Which he all did, meanwhile Snufkin picked herbs and built stuff with him, went fishing, and they fixed what needed to be fixed up around the house together. It was perfect, and it was something they made together. Moomin was proud, proud of his growth. He learned to say no and trust himself enough to step out of his comfort zone, and fall to fly. At least a bit. And if he was soft and sensitive, then what? That's him, and he was proud of it. Snufkin also changed, even if it was harder to put a finger on how he did inside. He was already brave, wise, and mysterious, how he could get any better? But he did, he really did. More like...grew like how plants do: the seeds of this indepedent, tough yet kind boy grew to this man with a cocky grin who took up teaching people on how to take care of themselves in the wild. Snufkin had sharp teeth, claws and soft, dark paws which were clever and fast. Moomin was very taken aback when he learned that getting hairy was something that had happened during puberty to creatures who weren't covered in fur from the beginning. But now, Snufkin had to shave his face, but still were prickly to the touch, and most of his skin, like his chest, abdomen, the back of his hands, his thighs were covered in grayish fur with some black, or even pale, "washed out" patterns here and there. Somewhere it was thick, similar to Moomin's fur, other places it was sparse. When Moomintroll asked Snufkin, around seventeen, both of them drunk during a beautiful Summer night, that what he is, again, Snufkin just grinned. "I'm Snufkin." he said, his smile cheerful yet sharp, and Moomin shivered pleasantly, even if he blushed, and made a babbling apology for blurting out something like this. The vagabond got more comfortable, even daring in social situations, what made him even a bigger troublemaker than he was already. Moomin did too, it made him a bit more observant. Not that he was the sharpest knife in the drawer(If anyone would try to insult him about this, Snufkin will probably have them in a headlock very quickly), and he knew it, and it's okay beacuse he was caring, hard-working and practical. But most importantly, Moomin learned to give space for Snufkin and Snufkin learned that it's okay to want company. And their marriage worked out just fine, even if Little My nagged both of them to pay her to the hours they spent with talking to her, venting to her, and asking her for advice. "I'm not a therapist. Well, not professionaly, altough i'm obviously a talent. Still, pay me, brother." she sneered, good natured, while sitting on their roof and drinking tea out of the pot. Moomin was pulled back into the moment when someone yelled for directions over their fence, and even if Snufkin held a paw on his knife, he flashed a toothy smile and helped the traveler, putting the knife back into his belt after their back had disappierd on the road through Moominvalley.<br/>
"Moomie!" he yelled, leaning against the fence. "What's the matter, light of my skies?" he had that expression of their teenage flirting, the very same grin. Moomin just rolled his eyes, fondly. "I'm fixing your coat, Snufkin. But i want to start dinner soon, i got a new recipe from Mamma. So, would you please go in and start the fire?" Moomin smiled, and Snufkin smiled back, saluting with two fingers, pushing his suspenders with his hands, and went in, whistling. As Moomin countinued to sew, wanting to finish the work in daylight, he heard Snufkin stoking the fire up, and his heart felt like it wants to burst out of his chest. Life was good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Snufkin is an opossum. And an anarchist. Also, i have been listening to the 72's Snufkin's theme, and it SLAPS. That's my favorite version and it's a pity people don't write about him 😔 Might change that later, tho ;) - Frank</p></blockquote></div></div>
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